


The Knight and the Thief

by ddagent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Cat Burglars, F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25782190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Jaime Lannister is rich, handsome – and a jewel thief. His next target is the home of Brienne Tarth, where he might finally find something worth stealing.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 121
Kudos: 330
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	The Knight and the Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmpressM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressM/gifts).



> Thank you SO MUCH to the amazing organisers of this fic exchange; it's been so much fun to take part, and now to read all these incredible stories! 
> 
> For EmpressM, you had so many awesome prompts to choose from, but this one really spoke to me. I truly hope you enjoy the story. 
> 
> For the prompt: "The apartment walls are thin, and one of them hears the other having a brutal break-up and reaches out with comfort."

King’s Landing was in the grips of a crime wave. A thief, known only as _The Cat,_ was striking right in the heart of high society. Selyse Baratheon’s jewels had been snatched right out of her jewellery box. A large emerald ring, and a handcrafted cigar case, had gone missing from the Tyrell home. Even the Starks had fallen prey when they had visited from the North. The gold cloaks had no leads. They’d interviewed all manner of housekeeping staff; from chefs to security. They’d interrogated every single waiter and valet working at the lavish events that seemed to precede a robbery.

They had no idea that The Cat was, in fact, a _lion._

Jaime Lannister climbed the fire escape towards the flat on the top floor; his target for the evening. The occupant, one Lady Brienne Tarth, would be spending the night at her _Gods_ awful boyfriend’s place. Jaime had had the reluctant pleasure to talk with them both earlier that evening at the opening of the Kingsguard exhibit at the Targaryen Museum of Ancient History. Tarth was as boring as she was ugly; her boyfriend – Kyle something – as loud as his tie. Jaime had known within thirty seconds that they would be his mark.

A high price for boring him rigid.

Reaching the top floor, Jaime used his tools (handcrafted from Valyria) to open the large window onto Tarth’s living room. As it slid upwards, Jaime grinned. “Nothing to it.”

He hoisted himself over the threshold, checked that his mask and leather gloves were in place, and began to scout Brienne Tarth’s home. It was smaller than he expected from an island heiress. And there were… _things._ Jaime liked to take jewels, yes. Expensive items that had no real value, other than when Baratheon Insurance wrote them a cheque. But he also liked to take a memento from their homes. Something personal. From the Baratheon’s, it was an origami horse their daughter had made that Selyse had so carelessly tossed away. From the Stark’s, a white and grey beanie made by their eldest daughter.

Jaime didn’t know where to start with Brienne Tarth.

He ran his fingers along the bookshelf first. “ _Kingsguard: A History, The Blue Knight: A Biography, The True Kingslayer._ Hmm.” Jaime was surprised. Despite them being actually _at_ a museum event for knights of old, Brienne Tarth hadn’t shown any interest during their conversation. Even despite being the author of several books on the subject! “You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” Jaime slid _Goldenhand: Kingslayer or Oathbreaker_ into his bag and continued on his search.

There wasn’t much in Brienne Tarth’s living room. Textbooks, student papers; a handknitted blanket thrown over a rather threadbare sofa. A cursory check of the kitchen revealed a similar state to his own: leftovers, meals on-the-go, little to no alcohol. He did take a couple of protein bars for his next gym session. But Jaime left the Evenfall fridge magnet holding a picture of her and what could only be Tarth senior behind.

“So far, Ms Tarth, I am _very_ disappointed,” he said to a framed graduation picture; the gown hovering above her kneecaps. “Shall we try the study?”

Jaime opened the door, expecting more of the same. Instead— “Well, well, well. Aren’t we full of surprises?”

Above a cluttered desk, proudly displayed upon the wall, was _Oathkeeper._ Not the reproduction kept in the Targaryen museum, or the replica that Jaime’s father had installed beside Widow’s Wail at the family estate. But a real Valyrian steel sword. Now _that_ was priceless. Back in the age of Goldenhand and the Blue Knight, only three men knew how to work Valyrian steel. That was down to one, now, and the reproduction was never quite the same.

Black leather brushed the blade, and Jaime drew in a sharp breath. “If only I could. _If only I could._ ”

After staring, somewhat disappointed, at his too-small bag, Jaime retreated from the study. Perhaps, when he’d finished ransacking the flat, he could return and actually hold it in his hand. Thrust; parry. For now, however, he had to search Brienne Tarth’s bedroom. Like the rest of the flat, it was covered in books. Little jewellery to speak of; a hoodie and trainers in the doorway nearly sprawling Jaime across the carpet. Still, he shoved the costume jewellery, earrings, and a broach with a sun and a star surrounding a sapphire into his bag. Not his best haul, but it would have to do.

Before Jaime made his escape, however, he returned to the study to stare at Oathkeeper one last time. And that was, of course, when the front door opened.

“—I can’t believe you’re getting upset about this!”

The front door slammed, and Brienne Tarth’s voice echoed in the empty apartment. “Why wouldn’t I be upset, Hyle? I found you kissing someone else!”

“You act like this is the first time I’ve done it!”

A pause. And then: “It isn’t?”

Jaime tried to tune out Tarth’s argument with her boyfriend. He thought he could take the adulterous twat if he had to make a run for it, but Tarth was taller than him and just as broad. The pink gown she had been stuffed into that evening had done the woman no favours. But, as Jaime’s torch swept over the photographs in her office, he had to admit that a pink dress wasn’t really her style. Professor Brienne Tarth liked historical re-enactments. Jousting, a melee, recreations of famous battles. She was definitely more at home in a suit of armour bearing a sword than trying to flatter old money at society functions. And she was not _unattractive_ while covered in mud and blood, either.

Hyle, however, did not think so. “I mean, come on, Brienne; did you honestly think I’d be happy _just_ fucking you?”

Jaime had been accused of many things, but he’d never been _that_ much of a dick. Cersei, his _dear_ step-sister, had at least used the secretive nature of their relationship as an excuse for her infidelity. Hyle didn’t even seem to bother. _What a cunt._

“Call me old fashioned, Hyle, but when I commit to someone, I like to think that they commit to me, too.”

The sound of a hand slamming against a wall put Jaime on edge. It wouldn’t do well to be caught robbing her flat, but he certainly couldn’t stand by while Brienne’s so-called-boyfriend took out his anger on her. He glanced back at Oathkeeper. No one had been cut with a Valyrian blade in centuries. Hyle didn’t even deserve _that_ honour.

“Brienne, I am committed to you. Committed to the life we’re going to build together.”

“My money, you mean.”

Hyle scoffed. “What’s the problem with that? You think anyone else is going to want to marry you? You think anyone else is lining up to _date you,_ let alone fuck you? I am the _best_ you are ever going to get.”

 _Get rid of him, Brienne. Send him packing. What would the Blue Knight do?_ “That’s the thing, Hyle. If you really _are_ the best I’m going to get, I’d rather be alone. Get out. _Now._ ”

Despite Jaime being an intruder in her home, he took a moment to punch the air. He didn’t know her at all, but Jaime knew Brienne was better off without _Hyle_. And after he’d gone, Jaime could sneak out and get on with his evening. The front door slammed, and he prepared to make a break for it. Brienne Tarth passed along the hall to her bedroom; Jaime staying out of the crack of light from the open study door. He heard a rustle of fabric, then watched as a pair of long, muscular legs traversed back along the hall towards the kitchen. Jaime gulped; suddenly overwhelmed by images of Brienne Tarth finding an intruder and straddling him until the gold cloaks arrived.

_Get it together, Lannister. Can you imagine what Father will say if he finds out you’re The Cat?_

He just had to wait for Brienne to drop off to sleep and then he could make his escape. His plan, however, did not factor in the clunk of a bottle-top being removed. Nor the long-legged knight falling to her knees in the hallway. Between the crack in the door and the paper-thin walls, Jaime could hear every sob Brienne made over a man who did not deserve her. He knew he should keep quiet. He knew she had friends and family she could turn to. But he also knew that he’d had no one after his break up with Cersei, and it had taken him a _long_ time to feel worth something again.

“You deserve better,” he said.

The crying immediately stopped. “Who said that?”

“Me.” He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. “The Cat.”

“I don’t have a—” It seemed Brienne Tarth was cursing her own stupidity, judging by the deep sigh she exhaled. “You’re the thief going around wealthy homes in King’s Landing. Why are you here?”

He snorted. “I was asking myself that very thing; you don’t have a lot to steal, Brienne.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Well, I’m robbing you, aren’t I? I’d be a poor thief if I didn’t know who I was robbing.” He rested his head against the wall, close to where he imagined Brienne’s was. “You weren’t supposed to be home tonight.”

“No, I was going to stay at Hyle’s. He doesn’t like coming here; thinks it’s _beneath_ me.” It wasn’t a Fleabottom flat for sure, but Jaime could imagine how a gold-digging cunt would push his mark to something better. “But then I caught him kissing one of the waitstaff. I stormed out; he followed.” A pause. “I–I suppose you heard all that.”

Jaime nodded. “I did. If it helps, I definitely think he’s in the wrong. I mean, what a _cunt._ ”

From the other side, Brienne spluttered. Might have even been a laugh. “I _mean,_ you’re not wrong. I just thought…”

Brienne trailed off; Jaime never wanting to hear the end of a sentence more. “Go on.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence; the dim hum of the refrigerator and the muted sounds of King’s Landing outside the flat walls. Jaime wondered whether he had pushed it too far; this bizarre conversation between thief and mark. And then: “I thought that he really _was_ the best I was going to get. I thought it was love. When he’d make a big show of keeping the lights off during sex; when he’d barely touch me unless he wanted me to buy him something. His constant texting and emailing, but never to me. I thought that was love. But I wanted more. I _deserve_ more.”

“You do,” Jaime agreed. “And you’re right, that wasn’t love. I should know; I’ve fallen into that same trap.”

“Go on.”

On the other side of the wall, Jaime grinned. “Guess it’s only fair. I thought she was the best a man could _ever_ get: beyond beautiful; highly intelligent. Everyone wanted her, but I _got_ her. I thought it was love, just like you. When she’d kick me out after we fucked; when she’d barely call me, _touch me_ unless she wanted something. The other men she’d be seen with because she couldn’t be seen with me. _It’s all for show,_ she’d say. I thought that was love.”

“But you wanted more.”

“I _deserved_ more.” Jaime sagged against the wall. “I don’t really know what love is, but I know it’s not that.” 

“How did you find out she was cheating on you?” A snort. “Did you break into someone else’s home and find her?”

Jaime barked out a laugh. Any normal person would have called the gold cloaks by now. But not her. Any normal thief would have knocked her down and made his escape. But not him. “No, no, it was my long-suffering brother who finally told me. But the first thing I ever stole was from her. This beautiful lion pendant I’d given her. I waited six months for her to notice it was missing, but she never did. Probably forgot I even gave it to her. You know, that’s when I realised that people like uh–like _you_ have so many things that mean more to other people than yourselves.”

He could hear Brienne fidget in the hallway. “What did you take of mine?”

“One of your books; some costume jewellery.”

“Please don’t take the sword.”

“Oh, I’d _love_ to take the sword, but my bag isn’t big enough.” At that, Brienne actually laughed. It was loud, and joyous, and Jaime wanted to hear it again. “It’s a beautiful blade.”

“It is. I’d love to see her sister sword, but the Lannisters have it under lock and key. Do you take requests, Mister Cat?”

Jaime snorted. “Are you propositioning me to steal from the Lannisters, Professor Tarth?”

“It would be worth it for Widow’s Wail.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Jaime shone his torch once again at the photographs of her in full armour. There was one of her at a melee, knocking her combatant into the dirt. Another at a Battle of Winterfell re-enactment, smiling as if she’d killed the mythical Night King herself. Brienne was _glorious._ Maybe he could take a night or two off from thieving and find the rest of himself on a re-enactment ground. He thought about meeting her there; exchanging barbs over blades. _We’d fight at first,_ he thought, _and then that frisson would turn into something else._ As he imagined what it would feel like to hold an actual broadsword in his hand, Jaime missed Brienne getting to her feet and opening the study door. Light illuminated what little of his face she could see.

“You’re not what I expected from a cat burglar.”

Jaime shrugged. “There are no thieves like me, only me.”

His eyes dragged up her long, muscular legs, falling upon her _Blackfish_ t-shirt, and then lingering on her teeth toying with a plump bottom lip. Earlier in the evening, she had just been another mark; barely worth his time other than the thrill of breaking into her flat. But now that thrill was the thought of getting to know her, of watching her open up to him. Of feeling her lips against his as they kissed in the dark corners of her home.

He rose to his feet; fully aware that Brienne was evaluating him. His size, his speed. Whether she could take him down if he tried to hurt her. “I won’t,” he said, her eyes widening in the dull light. “You’ve been hurt enough for one evening.”

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman?”

“Better than the man you left with tonight.”

“And how much will you be leaving with tonight?”

Jaime wet his top lip, wondering how much longer his luck would hold out. “I was thinking of stealing a kiss before I left.”

Brienne drew in a sharp intake of breath. He waited for her to knock him down. She did nothing as he slipped closer but stare at his own mouth, and the tongue wetting his lips ready for his first kiss since _her_. Brienne’s hands cradled his face: her thumb brushing the stubble covering his jaw; tracing the line of his mask. Jaime held her hands in place; her gaze meeting his. 

“Is it really stealing if I give it to you?”

Jaime grinned, and tilted his head up to meet her lips. They were soft, sweet from her drink; yielding to him almost immediately. Her fingers threaded through the golden strands at the base of his neck, tugging him closer. Jaime groaned into her mouth and pressed them both against the study door. He honestly had no idea why Hyle would seek a kiss from a member of the waitstaff when _Brienne_ was his. She was eager and sweet; her soft sighs as his tongue traced hers made him happier than all the gems in Westeros.

He pulled away to breathe, marvelling at her flushed appearance and swollen lips. Gods, what he would give to stay longer; to make it clear to Brienne that she _was_ wanted. _Desired._ But he’d already stayed too long. Moving into the light of the hall, he pressed one more kiss to the knuckles of Brienne’s right hand. “It was a pleasure, Ser.”

Jaime stayed long enough to witness the desire in eyes so precious he would steal them if he could before he _finally_ made his escape.

\--

Brienne Tarth had had the strangest few weeks. She had broken up with Hyle after catching him kissing another woman. He’d tried multiple times to get back together, but Brienne had rebuffed every single one. Then she had been robbed: the burglar known as The Cat had struck her apartment, taking one of her books, some costume jewellery, and a broach bearing the Tarth sigil that had been a gift from her mother. That one had especially stung, as she had actually enjoyed herself in the company of the thief. _Especially_ that kiss.

So, after a strange few weeks, it really came as no surprise when Jaime _Lannister_ texted her out of the blue.

> **Unknown:** Brienne, this is Jaime Lannister. I got your number from the museum. I really enjoyed talking to you the night of the exhibit; I’d love to meet up for coffee and talk about knights and ancient history.

Brienne had been out for coffee with Margaery when the message had come through. Despite her reluctance (she’d found the Lannister heir arrogant and rude during their meeting at the museum), Margaery had forced her to reply in the affirmative. After all, she could throw King’s Landing’s sexiest bachelor in Hyle’s face if he tried to win her back yet again, and he’d be a good distraction from sympathetic thieves with bottle-green eyes.

> _I’m free this Saturday._
> 
> **Jaime Lannister:** Excellent, it’s a date. Do you know the Golden Knight Grind? Say 11am?

So here she was, meeting Jaime _Lannister_ for coffee. The fact that he was already there was a good sign; Brienne had half expected this to be a joke on his part. But there he was, in a plain white shirt, golden stubble, and a bright smile at the sight of her. She’d even wondered if he’d thought her someone else, but he didn’t seem put off by her appearance as she joined him at his corner table. The waitress took her order for a cup of tea; Jaime Lannister ordering something full of sugar with two slices of chocolate cake.

 _We’re staying for a while, then._ Brienne took the seat in front of him, keeping both hands in her lap. Jaime Lannister looked practically giddy; as if he was _excited_ about their coffee date. “I’m really glad we could do this, Brienne.”

“Me–me too.”

“I feel like we’ve got a lot in common.” The waitress appeared with their drinks and cake; Jaime pausing as Brienne stirred in milk and sugar. “I really enjoyed our talk the night of the exhibit.” _Really?_ Brienne thought, trying to recall the five-minute discussion they’d had. She’d barely said a word; Hyle disliked it when she rambled on about history. Jaime Lannister himself had been snobbish; constantly on the lookout for someone better to talk to. And Hyle had been, well, _Hyle._ “I’m glad your boyfriend won’t be making any more appearances, though. I didn’t enjoy his company _nearly_ as much as I enjoyed yours.”

Brienne frowned. “Oh, _um,_ thank you?”

Jaime Lannister grinned. “You’re welcome. Now, before we get talking about history, I have something for you. You dropped it that night, and I wanted to make sure it was returned personally.” He slid a small, crimson box across the table. “Here.”

Brienne didn’t remember losing anything at the actual museum, so had little idea what Jaime Lannister was talking about. But then she opened the box. Nestled in silk was her mother’s broach. The tarnish had been buffed away; the sapphire shining brightly surrounded by a silver sun and a golden moon. It looked brand new. Perhaps it was, because the original broach had been stolen from her apartment – by a history-loving thief with golden stubble and bottle-green eyes.

She looked across the table. Jaime Lannister grinned. “It’s strange, isn’t it? People like us have so many things that mean more to the people that gave it to us than to ourselves. But some things are more priceless than anyone could ever imagine.” Jaime lifted his coffee cup and took a sip. “People, too.”

Brienne ran her thumb over the broach. She’d made enquiries at jewellers, pawnshops; Margaery’s antique dealer friend, Tyrion, had even promised to keep a lookout. And here it was. A part of her returned. And, perhaps, a part of him, too. “Thank you, Jaime. I honestly thought I’d lost it for good. Not at the museum, though.” Their eyes met across the table; the Lannister heir doing his best to act surprised. “You see, later that night, I was robbed by that thief doing the rounds. _The Cat_.”

“Really?” Jaime Lannister smirked. “I’ve heard the gold cloaks still have no leads. No witnesses coming forth. I doubt they’ll catch him, now, though: after his last big heist, I think he’s retired for good.”

Her brow furrowed. She hadn’t seen anything about another theft. “What big heist?”

“Haven’t you heard?” he said, sitting back smugly in his chair. “Our family home was robbed. He didn’t take much. Just a very old sword.”

Jaime’s green eyes caught hers across the table, and Brienne smiled. 


End file.
